final put-down: ‘Your wife’s been here, by the way.’
At least the Prefect was recovering. Rewarded with time off for this achievement, Gaius Vinius turned up, not at either of his wives’ homes but the Insula of the Muses at Plum Street. Where, so far, neither his fourth nor fifth wife knew he had an apartment.
Terror the dog was tied to a ring outside, so he could watch the world go by. He wagged his tail and let Gaius enter, without savaging his leg, then growled to show he would not let him leave.
Indoors, a couple of customers were having their hair styled by Lucilla and her girls. Gaius walked past this coven and into the kitchen. He made a drink: mulsum. The warm spiced concoction was everyone’s panacea, though a man in his disarray might need something stronger. He cooked even a drink in the male style; his method was adventurous and time-consuming, using as many utensils as possible, tasting frequently, admiring his own skill. He was so ambitious, he threw away the first panful as not meeting his high standards.
He carried a jug and two beakers into the workroom, where the clients were now having manicures from Glyke and Calliste. Silence fell. He squeezed through, aware of significant looks that passed between the women; he guessed Lucilla would be on the balcony. He closed the fold-up door for privacy.
‘It’s me.’
Lucilla nodded.
‘Pax?’
‘Pax Romana.’
‘I haven’t been myself.’
‘I bloody well hope not, Vinius! I wouldn’t like to think that’s what you have become.’
‘You were boorish yourself, woman.’
‘As you so rightly pointed out, I got divorced — it was a bad moment… I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.’
In daylight and sunshine, today they were just fellow-tenants. It was probably shaky but neutrality was reinstated between them.
For some time they sat side by side in silence. His mulsum was decent, though not as wonderful as Gaius believed. He gulped. Lucilla sipped hers, looking tired and drowsy.
At one point they both raised their beakers to salute old man Cretticus as he shuffled about down in his garden. They both sat back and put up their feet on the balustrade.
Eventually they heard movement indoors as the customers and girls left; Lucilla went out for polite farewells and, presumably, to take money. When she returned, Terror barged ahead of her; he threw himself on Gaius, putting heavy paws on his shoulders and licking him. Gaius petted the dog, though Lucilla must have seen him wrinkling his nose. Tended by hairdressers, Terror’s fur was combed, his skin oiled and ridiculously scented with floral lotions.
With the other women gone, a still afternoon descended. The only sounds now were birdsong and distant street noises. After Terror calmed down and just lolled on him, Gaius continued to rub the dog’s great neck for comfort.
‘Borrow him if you want. You’d love the Camp, wouldn’t you, Baby?
… What’s the matter, Vinius?’
‘I’m all right.’
‘You look as if you need to talk to someone.’
Dodging the real issues, Gaius described helping Rutilius Gallicus. ‘Confidentially.’ Rome knew the City Prefect was unwell, though not precisely how he was afflicted.
Succinctly but honestly, Gaius then reported his own troubles.
Assigned a reluctant role as his female friend and confidante, Lucilla listened. Gaius, who would unburden himself to nobody else, never considered how unfair it might be to discuss his personal life so intimately. He had known Lucilla for ten years. He reckoned he had permission to tell her everything. He could not decipher all she was thinking, but her veiled gaze added to the attraction. What man is not thrilled to have the attention of a woman who keeps her mystery?
‘What am I going to do?’
Lucilla said briskly, ‘You cannot be a bigamist. In Rome, marriage is defined as willing co-habitation by two people. You can only do it once. The second marriage automatically annuls the first.’
Gaius was impressed. ‘When did you train as a lawyer?’
‘Customer talk. If you don’t believe me, take proper legal advice.’
‘I can’t risk telling anyone. I would be informed on.’
‘You just told me.’
‘I trust you.’
‘Thanks!’ Lucilla sounded dry.
Gaius rasped a laugh: ‘The crazy thing is, anyone who tries to denounce me will come whispering to the very team of inquisitors I now collaborate with.’
He saw Lucilla frown. ‘Are you going to enjoy that work?’
‘No. But this is the Guards.’
‘You will need a clear head then. Stop overdoing the drink. Yes,’ Lucilla reproved him. ‘Members of your family are very concerned. Paulina had a word. For some reason people think you may listen to me.’
‘I do.’
‘Then stop being a barfly.’
‘I am dealing with it.’ Gaius poured them more mulsum; they both smiled.
‘All drunks say they are in control, but I agree you are strong-willed.’ Lucilla was presumably thinking, I ought to know. ‘Besides, wine is just your temporary refuge; it’s understandable. You never got over Dacia. Are you still sleeping badly?’
‘Bad memories.’ Gaius scowled. ‘I came home, assuming I had left it all behind, yet Dacia won’t loosen its grip on me. While I was there, the recurrent memory was something very different.’ Time to tell her. Time to open up. ‘We have never talked about what happened at Alba.’
Lucilla said nothing.
He stared out over the courtyard. ‘That was a special occasion and we both know it. Flavia Lucilla, you could sleep with the man of your heart a thousand times and only achieve such an experience once… Mind you,’ said Gaius, speaking ruefully for his own reasons, ‘you could have nine hundred and ninety-nine other attempts afterwards, with at least some hope…’ She did not smile. ‘I thought about you every day,’ he announced baldly.
‘I was worth it then?’ Lucilla’s voice was a whisper.
He turned back. She was sitting on his left, so it meant bringing his head right around to look at her. Graceful in a light flowered gown, with rows of fine neckchains hung from two enamelled shoulder brooches, she made his blowsy wife seem common and his respectable wife seem stiff.
His smile was sad, his voice intense: ‘Oh yes, you were worth it!’
Lucilla flushed. He reddened a little. Gaius prompted, ‘You could say the same about me?…’ Lucilla released a scathing puff of laughter, which he hoped meant her appreciation of him as a lover went without saying. ‘Still, not anymore,’ he confessed hoarsely, bursting out with it. ‘Dacia seems to have done for me.’
While Lucilla slowly grasped what he meant, Gaius writhed unhappily. He was innocently unaware that she was thinking he had two wives, a sympathetic commanding officer and a large family; it was unfair to burden her. Still he insisted: according to his fourth wife, when he came round after that first night in her squalid lair, he had significantly failed to function. ‘Apparently, I just cannot do it.’
Lucilla exhibited very little shock. Gaius would have been amazed how often impotence was a subject of conversation with hairdressers. ‘That must be enormously distressing for you.’
Gaius swallowed, unable to say more. Broken by the relief of sharing his trouble, he dropped his face into his hands, elbows on his knees, welling up in shame and misery.
He heard Lucilla’s chair scrape as she rose and came to him. Leaning down, she put her arms around him. He smelled her own perfume, plus echoes of other lotions she had been using in her work. As if held by his mother, he was enveloped in warmth and sympathy. Clearly there was no sensual element to this close embrace; even though Lucilla stroked his hair, her touch was professional. ‘This grey over your ears… I could darken it for you; still, it looks distinguished… You are a man who has lived. Gaius, living means suffering.’
